Somebody with a submachine gun punched three holes and a spiderweb of crazing in the windshield. The pellets missed Daniel’s head by less than he had time to worry about.
He let go of the joystick because whatever input he had on the yacht’s controls just made things worse. Adele was spreadeagled against the cockpit’s port bulkhead, gripping two handholds.
The power board shorted in blue fire as salt water reached a conduit whose sheathing had been scraped away on the coral. An instant later a generator blew explosively; foul black smoke spewed up through hatches and the fresh cracks in the decking.
Lamsoe had gone over the side at the first impact, but the automatic impeller was still on its mount. Daniel grabbed its twin spade grips. The deck was no longer down; it sloped at sixty degrees as the sweep’s powerful tentacles continued to contract. The creature was tipping the Ahura on her back, using the coral reef as a fulcrum.
Daniel braced his feet against a stanchion and one of the cockpit handholds. He thumbed the plate trigger between the impeller’s grips.
The gun recoiled violently but the jury-rigged mount held. The first projectiles raked water empty except for the surge and bubbles stirred by the sweep’s tentacles. Daniel shot the burst on, adjusting his aim by twisting his whole body and using the gun itself as a support.
The projectiles’ kinetic energy blew the lagoon into an instant fog. He continued to walk the impacts toward the memory of his target: the point where the tentacles emerged together from the lagoon.
The Ahura was nearly vertical. Men and debris floated about her in the churning sea. Daniel’s right leg twisted around the gun mount, but his left foot dangled in the air.
Bright yellow blood geysered in the steam at Daniel’s point of aim. Chunks of flesh, some of them bigger than a man, spun in all directions. A tentacle writhed across the water like a beheaded snake, both ends free. The other tentacle contracted in its final convulsion as the impeller emptied its magazine.
The Ahura tilted over on her back, falling toward the lagoon where bloody, boiling water subsided. The impeller slipped from its mount and tumbled on its own course, taking Daniel with it in the instant before he let go.
He caught a glimpse of Adele in the air. Her face was set and disapproving. One of her hands gripped the computer sheathed along her right thigh; the other was in the left pocket of her tunic.
“Cinnabar!” Daniel shouted as he hit the water.
Adele supposed she ought to be thankful that the water at the edge of the beach was shallow enough that she hadn’t drowned. She’d come down on her knees, though, and the shock of the water and then packed sand three feet below the surface had made her nauseated with pain.
Even now, ten minutes after Cafoldi brought her onto dry ground in a packstrap carry, she walked stiff-legged. She’d be surprised if she didn’t have bruises to midway on both thighs and shins.
But she’d found her personal data unit worked perfectly despite the ducking. It was at least an open question whether or not she’d prefer to have broken her neck if the alternative was to be stranded on an island without access to civilized knowledge.
Now that Adele had the mental leisure to notice, she saw that the sailors were all at work. Apparently nobody’d been killed or even seriously injured. For the most part they’d rolled into the water before the yacht flipped in the monster’s final convulsion.
Daniel stood in the shade of a tree with small leaves and ropy branches. From each tip hung a nut that grew to the size of a clenched fist. While Daniel talked to Woetjans he peeled the flexible shell of a nut with a small knife, popping bits of the white flesh into his mouth at intervals.
He broke off and grinned broadly when he saw Adele approaching. “You ran your data link through its paces?” he called.
“Yes, thank God,” she said. “It’s supposed to be sealed against worse than a bath in salt water, but until I tried it I wasn’t sure.”